Because I Am Not My Freaking Illness | On Oxnard Shores

On Wednesday, I cancelled therapy indefinitely. Left a message for my therapist, told him I didn?t want to do the hypnotherapy thing to re-experience trauma and whatever to make all the feelings go away and thereby unblock my creativity. But not in so many words. Just said, I?m not open to it, and I?m taking a break, will call back if I feel like talking, etc. However, I have recently realized that I don?t want to talk anymore but start doing and get on with my life. I was reading that women go into menopause in their 40s-50s. I want to have a sex life/partner before I dry up. I want more in life, so screw it, and screw the naysayers, the doubters.

I?m going to try. I want to beat this inertia. I think I have more to give. I want to live my life, my dream. Not retire in Oxnard all alone with a depressed outlook and wait until my parents die to be free, and end up killing myself because I find out I have no one, nothing, at all. I want to finish my book, try to get it published, lose weight, and not act like a mental patient. And someday fall in love again for real and have a life partner, companion, and all those good things I deserve. Speak my mind. Own my voice. Not let anyone but me define me. And try to always speak and write in such a way that I can be proud of myself. Maybe I am being unrealistic, but fuck it. Having a big dream is better than not having one at all.

I think I am a smarter person than the way I have expressed myself at times in my blog and other writings (i.e., erotica). Maybe I am setting myself up for failure or disappointment. Maybe I am really really a fucked up mentally ill human being, and I am just deluding myself. But I don?t think I?m stupid. I was smart enough to get a Bachelor?s in English and a Master?s in Creative Writing. I don?t want to be my illness. I want to be more than a maybe she could have been. I just can?t imagine my life going on like this. I don?t want to be afraid anymore. Should I give up and be my illness, or should I try, just try, to be more than this sad and lonely person who hardly leaves the house? Whatever. I?m finishing the novel, damn it. I?m going to be a bipolar who makes it. Or at least, I?m going to try.

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Source: http://oxnardshores.wordpress.com/2012/08/25/because-i-am-not-my-freaking-illness/

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